


more than you could ever know

by Nabielka



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/F, Pre-Canon, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8943943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabielka/pseuds/Nabielka
Summary: In the last days of summer, the Kyra of Delpha beds the Crown Princess.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thishasnomeaning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thishasnomeaning/gifts).



Afterwards, Damia pulled away, sated, with a smile, and collapsed down on the bed next to her, saying, “I knew you were looking at me.”

Nikandra turned over to look at her. “Everybody looks at you.” 

For her part, Nikandra found it difficult to look away. But it was true; many people indeed looked at Damiana in much the same way. 

And so did in turn Damia look at them. Nikandra was not a fool: she had seen the processions of bedfellows, mostly women, from Damia’s bedchambers, and knew her own place in it was just as temporary. 

But it was different, between them. All those women, the occasional man, none of them got to sit with Damia and talk and drink; none of them had seen her troubled or exhausted. She had never turned to them for assistance in anything. 

“Yes,” said Damia now. She had pushed herself up onto one elbow, the muscle bulging even further.The sight of it sent a thrill through Nikandra, for all that it was not new. She saw it daily while in Ios, in training. It was just an arm, a muscle showing its years of hard training. Nikandra was a kyra now, and had grown up largely in the palace, besides; she was no stranger to the bodies of soldiers, and in any case, she need only look down at herself. 

But to see Damia was something else. To see her like this, mussed and radiating warmth, sent her heart unsteady. 

She said, “I’ve a surprise for you.”

Her expression was very warm. Nikandra had missed this. She couldn’t say that.

She said, instead, “Is it that you’ve caused another political crisis?” and Damiana laughed. 

“You talk as though I haven’t given you pleasanter surprises,” she said, in lieu of a proper answer. “Anyhow, it’s a nice one!” She was smiling. It was difficult not to get lost in it. “Remember when my mother gave you Delpha?”

With a frown, Nikandra said, “That was different.” 

She had worked for years in the memory of her own mother, to make her as proud as she had been unable to do while her mother still lived. To have Damia compare her own bedding gifts with that cheapened it. 

The warm glow that had succeeded the bedding was gone. She felt again the aches of the road, and felt as though she could sleep for a week and still feel worn out. 

But it was good to remember what bedding the Crown Princess was like. She was prone to get caught up in it, caught up in how Damia’s smile lit up the room and how good it felt to have her press Nikandra down on the bed.

“I know,” said Damia. 

That was all it took: Nikandra felt the irritation drain away, and cursed herself for a fool at being so weak, at liking her so much. 

Her sister did not. Nikandra remembered again that flash of something across Kastoria’s face, gone in an instant as Damiana had turned back towards her. But still it had been there, and it had frozen Nikandra to the bones. 

But there was no putting it in words. There was nothing to say. To contemplate it was ridiculous, scandalous. Damia herself did not forgive so easily: whoever was not on her side was against her, but whoever was became untouchable. And she loved her sister, had worshipped her as a child. 

Nikandra was her oldest friend. She might hear her out, but to Damiana her sister’s love and loyalty were beyond reproach. Nothing could be said, nothing identified.

She was speaking again, unknowing of the turmoil in Nikandra’s mind. “In any case, I’m sure you’ll like it.”

It was not unlikely: Damia had good taste in gifts, and was generous besides. Ianastra, Ianora, that gaggle of Kyras, Eunida who would be Lady of the Aegina one day, all had left well-satisfied in more ways than one. For her part, Nikandra prized the friendship more than any occasional place in Damia’s bed. Still, she could not stop herself grasping at more of her time than she ought, more than she could ever have. 

It was even worse now, when duties kept Nikandra ever from Ios, and from Damiana’s side. But it was a great honour, an immense trust, to be held responsible for ensuring the border, to hold the victory they had achieved only a few years ago, and to make it part of the kingdom again in truth. It was a greater honour still that it came from the Queen, and not from her daughter, whose appointment of one so young would be ever seen through the prism of friendship. A golden future was laid out before them: the queen-to-be and her loyal kyra. 

And her sister, about whom Nikandra could do nothing. But it was difficult to worry about her with Damia so close, in Damia’s bed. 

Instead, she leaned over and kissed her again, revelling in the fact that she could, again and again, and pulled away only for more breath.

Catching it, she caught also on a pleasanter memory, when they had been younger and still in constant training, she said, “Remember that village? Where you bedded all those Kyras?”

Damia shook her head. “I remember they weren’t all called Kyra.”

“Ah, close enough! You can have another kyra now,” she said, and leaned back on the bed. In her absence Damiana had had the pillows changed, and the difference was disconcerting, her head still sinking deeper than she expected. 

Once, she had known Damia’s bed well. They had been children, and her mother was newly dead, and Damia already her friend, whose presence had assuaged the grief a little. But they had not been together like this for months, for Nikandra had been up north, and Damia’s attention caught by others. 

But it was on her now, and was to be enjoyed for as long as it lasted. Indeed, Lady Jokaste, whom all the court said Damiana was courting, now, had gone to watch her sister fight in the summer tournament in Kesus. 

They said that she had none of the warrior’s build Damia favoured, and which all their friends had trained so hard for, but perhaps she was blonde enough to make the bargain worthwhile. 

For her part, Nikandra was well aware of her own looks, and even more aware still of Damia’s tastes, enthusiastic for variety, but always with a particular bent towards a certain colouring. 

Still, it was worth much to have her for a night, and more still to have her laugh and call out to Nikandra across the training arena the next morning, to take Nikandra’s arm and talk of common matters: her interests, their families, the changes in the court. 

Damia's hair, though rather cut short, was long enough to fall a little over her face as she leaned over. “Do you want me to take you to bed?” 

Nikandra gave her and the room an exaggerated look. “You already have.” Then tugging her over, she added, “Or is it that your standards are so high you’ve already discounted it?”

She laughed, and threw a leg over Nikandra, manoeuvring herself. She was on top, she was always on top, her muscles pressing Nikandra to the bed and making her head spin. “How about another round, then?”

She leaned in, and proceeded on her way to making Nikandra see stars.


End file.
